like a piece of thistledown.
‘I think you are afraid of Sam,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ Minella admitted, ‘I think I am.’
It was true. Sam’s personality was too powerful. She had never met anyone like him before, and nervousness made her say and do impulsive things that wouldn’t cross her mind any other time.
Suddenly Benita was overcome with Latin emotion and tears collected in her eyes. ‘It is sad. Once he was going to marry, but the lady, she left him. He never forget her, but maybe he could if someone else came to love him.’
‘Well, don’t go expecting it to be me!’ Minella was alarmed. ‘I don’t want any more to do with him.'
'Poof!’ scoffed Benita, flouncing back to the oven. ‘You are too young anyway.’
‘And he wouldn’t look so old without that beard,’ Minella retorted. ‘Now I’m going.’
She retraced her steps through the passage and went to the bedroom again, though she didn’t know why. There was nothing for her to pack. She stared at the windows with the closed shutters, took a gulping breath, then pushed them aside with determination so that sunlight flooded in and washed away the memory of what had taken place there, for the moment at least. Benita had followed her.
‘He will not forgive me if I let you go. You have been ill.’ Her voice was contrite, and when Minella looked round she held out motherly arms in a beseeching gesture that was hard to resist.
‘But I’m better now. You can say you didn’t know I’d gone.’
‘Where you go?’
‘I told you, Vasco will help me,’ Minella said.
She wished she had something to carry. The very fact that she had nothing seemed to emphasise her dependence on other people, and though she wasn’t aware of it there was a hint of panic in her voice.
‘I no understand the English,’ said Benita, with a shake of her head. ‘You are so cold. And you always hurry. Why you not sit here and wait?’
‘What would I wait for?’
The older woman lifted her shoulders and spread her fingers. ‘I no know. Maybe your brother will come back.’
The irony of it almost made Minella weep and she couldn’t understand the logic of such a remark. She was sure Benita wouldn’t be deliberately cruel. Her eyes were still soulful.
‘My brother is dead,’ she explained softly.
‘How you know?’ Benita demanded. ‘ You were saved from the sea. Why not him also?’
For a moment Minella couldn’t speak. Her hand went to her throat and a fluttering of hope, too fragile to grasp, made her swallow hard. ‘Oh, Benita,’ she whispered, ‘do you really think it might be possible?’ The expressive shoulders lifted again. ‘I no know. Maybe.’ Then she held out her arms once more and this time Minella ran to her, welcoming the feel of that wonderful, motherly embrace with eagerness, having never known much maternal affection. ‘There, there, my child,’ Benita crooned, ‘it will be all right.’
It was only a remote chance, and perhaps it was unwise to even consider it when her hopes could be finally dashed at any hour, but she had always been an optimist and while there was no definite news she could still believe in miracles.
Nothing was real. She didn’t know exactly how long she’d been here, for at least two days were lost in the mists of fever, but during that time Greg had seemed very close. She hadn’t fully accepted that she would never see him again. Perhaps the shock was too recent for her to absorb it, because even the tears she had shed through the night had been partly to assuage the hopelessness of her own plight. She had no thought beyond the present, and realised she didn’t know what day of the week it was. What harm could there be in clinging to a dream for a little while longer?
A dusting of flour coated Benita’s warm brown skin, but the comforting smell of baking was almost lost beneath the heavy perfume she applied liberally and allowed to remain indefinitely. Minella extricated herself from the
‘I think you are afraid of Sam,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ Minella admitted, ‘I think I am.’
It was true. Sam’s personality was too powerful. She had never met anyone like him before, and nervousness made her say and do impulsive things that wouldn’t cross her mind any other time.
Suddenly Benita was overcome with Latin emotion and tears collected in her eyes. ‘It is sad. Once he was going to marry, but the lady, she left him. He never forget her, but maybe he could if someone else came to love him.’
‘Well, don’t go expecting it to be me!’ Minella was alarmed. ‘I don’t want any more to do with him.'
'Poof!’ scoffed Benita, flouncing back to the oven. ‘You are too young anyway.’
‘And he wouldn’t look so old without that beard,’ Minella retorted. ‘Now I’m going.’
She retraced her steps through the passage and went to the bedroom again, though she didn’t know why. There was nothing for her to pack. She stared at the windows with the closed shutters, took a gulping breath, then pushed them aside with determination so that sunlight flooded in and washed away the memory of what had taken place there, for the moment at least. Benita had followed her.
‘He will not forgive me if I let you go. You have been ill.’ Her voice was contrite, and when Minella looked round she held out motherly arms in a beseeching gesture that was hard to resist.
‘But I’m better now. You can say you didn’t know I’d gone.’
‘Where you go?’
‘I told you, Vasco will help me,’ Minella said.
She wished she had something to carry. The very fact that she had nothing seemed to emphasise her dependence on other people, and though she wasn’t aware of it there was a hint of panic in her voice.
‘I no understand the English,’ said Benita, with a shake of her head. ‘You are so cold. And you always hurry. Why you not sit here and wait?’
‘What would I wait for?’
The older woman lifted her shoulders and spread her fingers. ‘I no know. Maybe your brother will come back.’
The irony of it almost made Minella weep and she couldn’t understand the logic of such a remark. She was sure Benita wouldn’t be deliberately cruel. Her eyes were still soulful.
‘My brother is dead,’ she explained softly.
‘How you know?’ Benita demanded. ‘ You were saved from the sea. Why not him also?’
For a moment Minella couldn’t speak. Her hand went to her throat and a fluttering of hope, too fragile to grasp, made her swallow hard. ‘Oh, Benita,’ she whispered, ‘do you really think it might be possible?’ The expressive shoulders lifted again. ‘I no know. Maybe.’ Then she held out her arms once more and this time Minella ran to her, welcoming the feel of that wonderful, motherly embrace with eagerness, having never known much maternal affection. ‘There, there, my child,’ Benita crooned, ‘it will be all right.’
It was only a remote chance, and perhaps it was unwise to even consider it when her hopes could be finally dashed at any hour, but she had always been an optimist and while there was no definite news she could still believe in miracles.
Nothing was real. She didn’t know exactly how long she’d been here, for at least two days were lost in the mists of fever, but during that time Greg had seemed very close. She hadn’t fully accepted that she would never see him again. Perhaps the shock was too recent for her to absorb it, because even the tears she had shed through the night had been partly to assuage the hopelessness of her own plight. She had no thought beyond the present, and realised she didn’t know what day of the week it was. What harm could there be in clinging to a dream for a little while longer?
A dusting of flour coated Benita’s warm brown skin, but the comforting smell of baking was almost lost beneath the heavy perfume she applied liberally and allowed to remain indefinitely. Minella extricated herself from the
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